


Seven of Cups

by bellmare



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4, Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/bellmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere at the back of his mind, Souji considers how inconvenient long hair really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven of Cups

**Author's Note:**

> It's a [long](http://41.media.tumblr.com/08ca02c735972bfcfa13af5e2f937477/tumblr_nhkhvrCQMm1tgda0mo8_1280.jpg) [slide](http://quietspell.tumblr.com/post/109409351562) down the [slippery](http://quietspell.tumblr.com/post/109509448912) [slope](http://quietspell.tumblr.com/post/109677282837).

"You know, senpai, it'd be funny if crossdressing really  _was_  your special talent."

 Rise grins at him. Souji frowns, and wishes nobody ever caught wind of that conversation. "I was joking," he says. "To lighten the mood."

 Yukiko giggles, braiding and re-braiding Souji's wig. "Well, if you hadn't mentioned it, Junpei-san wouldn't have asked you to prove it." 

Souji breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shifts slightly against the desk and Rise smacks his knee as she stops midway through fixing his sailor collar. "Senpai, watch how you're sitting! Girls don't sprawl around with their legs open like that. Don't be improper."

Naoto frowns when he moves again. "Senpai, it would be very helpful if you could refrain from fidgeting around so much while I apply your makeup."

"Sorry. Why're you going all-out this time, anyway?"

"Because Junpei-san volunteered the leader to compete against you to see who'd make the cuter girl," Rise says. "I was a bit surprised when he ended up being the bride that time, though."

"I'm sort of glad it turned out that way the second time around." Souji averts his gaze as Naoto instructs, looking down towards his shoes. 

"I dunno, I think the leader'd make a cute girl," Chie says, thoughtful. "He's got a nice ... face?" She gestures vaguely and stops, as though confused. 

"Soft features?" Yukiko suggests.

"Yeah! That. A-anyway! I think you're up for some pretty stiff competition."

"... and so that's why all of you are pooling your efforts together to make me the cutest leader," Souji says flatly. 

"Hey, you have a pretty good shot now," Chie replies. "Especially now that Teddie won't be competing."

"Oooh, yes!" At the sound of his name, Teddie looks up from examining the collection of cosmetics scattered across the desktop. "Sensei, make sure you score for Team Yaso! We can't lose!"

"If you were really that serious, I don't think gang leaders tend to win cuteness contests. Alice in Wonderland -- now  _that_  works."

"That sort of look won't quite work for you, senpai." Naoto leans back slightly to inspect her handiwork. "You're a little too ... ah, tall and ... broad ... for it to be as effective."

"Fine," Souji says as Yukiko tugs on his braids to loosen them a little. 

.

They parade him out with a certain sense of ceremony; the skirt flips against his ankles as he walks.

"Oh wow," Junpei says. "Just like a real gang boss chick _._  Pretty intense look you've got going on there, but I guess it suits you."

"Thanks," Souji says. The stockings itch; he feels uncomfortably warm, his shoes unusually slippery. He wonders how Yukiko can wear them all the time. "Where's the leader?"

"Right here." One of the classroom doors slide open; Yukari steps out, Minato following behind her. 

He looks, Souji thinks, just like a girl. Maybe it's the height. The expression, bordering on demure -- which, Souji supposes, is an improvement from abject boredom. Or appearing to sleep with his eyes open. Maybe it's the fact that Minato seems to have borrowed Yukari's thigh holster for his evoker. Or it's the long, dark hair tied with a ribbon. It's a nice touch; Souji wonders whose idea it was. 

"Oh, wow," Junpei says again. "Not bad. You'd give Yuka-tan a run for her money." Yukari elbows him before he can quite finish; he yelps, moving his arms into a more defensive position. "What? It's a compliment! You all dressed him up, didn't you?"

"I-it was a team effort," Fuuka says. 

Junpei smiles at Minato, a shit-eating grin. "Y'know, if you really  _were_  a cute girl, maybe it'd be easier to follow your orders. I wouldn't mind a cute chick bossing me around, y'know what I mean?"

"Wow," Yukari says as she adjusts Minato's evoker holster around her waist. "I guess you really  _are_  a masochist."

.

Minato wins the unofficial contest. Souji doesn't really blame the others for voting the way they do. As they collect their clothes and head back to an unused classroom to change, he holds out a hand. "Well, congratulations," he says. 

Minato takes his hand, expression unreadable. "Thanks."

The classroom is dark, the drapes pulled over the windows. Souji glances at his reflection in the glass as he picks his way towards a desk that's somewhere near where he would usually sit. The skirt swishes around his legs as he stops at one of the chairs and takes a seat, working on untying the braids on his wig. 

Minato settles on top one of the desks and smooths down his skirt, ankles crossed. He watches as Souji tugs at the ribbons in his hair, trying to work his fingers under the knots. 

"Have you ever wondered what you'd look like if you were a girl?" Minato asks, making no move to change. 

Souji shrugs. "Not really. Maybe with shorter hair than this. Long hair seems inconvenient."

"... right." Minato reaches up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He frowns, as though mildly surprised by its current length, then tucks a section behind his ear. 

"Suits you more than it does me," Souji says. "Personally, I think I'd look good with a bob cut. Practical."

Minato doesn't reply, though he leans forwards, just a little, canting his head to the side; there's something almost coquettish about his posture. Souji blinks back, wondering who Minato learnt it from. 

"What about you?"

Minato doesn't quite shrug, but his expression conveys a similar sentiment. "Maybe with a ponytail. Some hairpins," he says and seems to smile, almost to himself. As though thinking of a personal joke. "Maybe with lighter hair. Maybe red would be my colour. Or orange. Something bright."

Souji laughs, a little, as he tugs at the ribbons on his braids. Yukiko's done a thorough job on tying them. He gives up, instead running his fingers through the fibres. Minato watches, eyes hooded. "... need a hand?"

"Sure."

Minato slides off his desk and walks -- or rather, saunters -- over, as though this is something he does every day. His skirt is shorter than Souji's; its edge flicks slightly against his evoker holster when he stops. Souji turns his head towards the window; Minato picks at one of his braids. 

"Funny, huh, how we got matched up twice for the wedding thing," he says. Minato makes a quiet noise that sounds like assent. "Must be fate. The destiny that led us Wild Cards to the same place."

One of the ribbons loosens; Minato slides his fingers through the strands of the wig and tugs gently; the braid unravels. "And you believe in fate?" he asks. It sounds more like a statement.

"Maybe." Souji suddenly feels the need to study his reflection closely. Belatedly, he remembers Rise's instruction to sit with his legs closer together -- only Minato's standing between his knees, absently running one hand through Souji's wig. "We could run through the labyrinth again. Give those questions another go. Third time's the charm, as they say."

"What's the point of that?"

Souji draws in a shallow breath -- when did Minato get this close? -- and considers his answer. "A confirmation?" he replies at last. It's more of a question than an answer.

"Ha." Minato has him by the chin; his palm slides against Souji's face, against his cheek. "Unhappy with your luck of the draw?"

Souji laughs under his breath. "Hardly."

Minato's brow furrows, as though deep in thought. When Souji leans forward, he doesn't pull away, though his hand slides lower towards Souji's jaw, then to the side of his neck. Souji cards his hands through Minato's hair and tugs him closer, pulls him into the kiss. Minato lets out a quiet breath and runs his tongue over Souji's teeth. A hand reaches between them, slides up under his blouse and against his stomach; Minato's other hand closes around Souji's cock and palms him through the skirt. Souji shivers slightly at the contact, rolling his hips forward.

"Well." He breaks away first, drawing in a short breath as he brushes his hair out of his face. Then clears his throat, trying to hide the hitch in his voice. "Having hair this long really is inconvenient."

Minato tilts his head and kisses the side of Souji's jaw, then neck, then throat; he tugs at the sailor collar, nudges it to the side and scrapes his teeth over the collarbone. Souji's half-hard already; he jerks as Minato's palm slides across the shaft, then over the head. 

His head feels light; he can hear his pulse throbbing through his temples and in Minato's fingers around his erection. When he opens his eyes he realises he's stood up and Minato has pushed him down against the desk, the chair scraping noisily out of the way. Souji's skirt catches awkwardly between his legs; Minato's hikes up slightly, then further as Souji grinds his hips against Minato's, rutting against him. 

"Do you," Souji tries to say, only he's not certain how much of it is coherent. "Do you believe in that destined partner business?"

He doesn't sound as composed as he aims for; it's difficult to, when Minato's adjusted his grip, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks. Souji tilts his head, kisses him again; there's a vaguely satisfied expression on Minato's face when he leans forward.

"I don't really care for trying my luck again," he says into Souji's mouth. When Souji turns his face towards him, he shifts away, licks a languid strip down the side of Souji's neck to his shoulder, then bites down. 

"Shit." Souji huffs out a shallow breath and digs his fingers into Minato's back, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to untuck it. Minato straightens slightly; he watches with amusement as Souji struggles with the zipper of the blazer, before pushing Souji's hands away and unzipping it himself. Souji reaches up, loosens the bow around Minato's neck and undoes the first few buttons of the shirt, before pulling him closer with the trailing ends of the ribbon. Minato leans into the kiss; his hair tickles the side of Souji's face. 

One of Minato's legs slides between his legs, pressing against Souji's erection; Souji's hand twitches, shifts up Minato's thigh, past the gun holster and up under the edge of his skirt. The muscles tense and shift beneath his fingers; pleased at the reaction, Souji pushes his hand up further, wraps his hand around Minato.

In response, Minato's eyes narrow, breath hitching slightly. His head tilts up and his hands shifts between Souji's legs again, running his thumb over the top of his cock, smearing precome across the tip. Souji leans forward and kisses the hollow of Minato's throat, licks at the curve of his collarbones and sternum. 

Minato seems to sigh; he shifts his hand, grinding the heel of his palm against Souji. He gives a last, lazy stroke before he lets go. He makes as though to grab at Souji's skirt, still bunched between his legs, then seems to reconsider. "You might want to get up on the desk. More comfortable that way."

"How considerate." Souji seats himself on it anyway -- and also because his back's starting to hurt after being pushed onto the desktop -- and leans back on his elbows, watching as Minato hikes up the skirt around his knees. "What're you doing?"

Minato doesn't reply; he ducks beneath Souji's skirt and then his hands are on Souji's thighs and moving higher, pulling at his boxers. Souji shifts to help Minato work them off, only succeeding in getting them hooked around his ankles. 

When Minato's hand closes around him again, Souji inhales sharply when he feels Minato's tongue against the back of his knee -- a warm touch that lingers before vanishing, then appearing elsewhere.

He makes to grab the hem of his skirt, to shift it aside for a better look, but Minato wraps his fingers around Souji's wrist and murmurs, "no" against his inner thigh. Souji tries to sit up, to reach for Minato's cock but Minato slaps his hand away, face still hidden by the drape of Souji's skirt. 

"Who's the leader here?" he asks. "And who's the vice-leader?"

Souji laughs, low and unsteady; the sound dies down into a quiet wheeze when Minato takes him into his mouth. He tries to hold himself still, to maintain some semblance of control, to not push forwards. Minato's tongue slides against his shaft, slow and unhurried, flicks at the tip and under the head. 

"... too close," Minato says when Souji's legs jump together, hips arching off the desk. He leans against one knee, splaying his palm against Souji's thigh, then slings Souji's other leg over his shoulder; Souji's gratified, in a faraway part of his mind, to hear the unsteady edge in Minato's voice.

"Sorry--" His apology trails away when Minato takes him in again, deeper this time, tongue pressing against the underside of his cock. His leg jerks, ankle digging between Minato's shoulderblades. "Sorry," he says again and tries to shifts his foot. "Sorry, can't-- control--"

Ah. How curious. His hands are starting to hurt; it takes a while to pinpoint why. Souji slowly unclenches his fingers from the edge of the desk, then considers where to put them instead, before settling for clutching at the fabric of his skirt. 

Distantly, he notes Minato's rhythm growing erratic, notices Minato's arm moving in time as he sucks Souji off. "Let me," he manages to say, and leans forward over Minato's back before he can respond. One hand closes around Minato's, trying to match his movements; the other he curls into the back of Minato's blazer, scraping at the fabric with his nails. 

Minato's hand tenses beneath Souji's as he shifts forward, sliding his mouth further down. Souji tries to articulate a warning -- or to jerk back, whichever his body will cooperate with -- but it's too late because he's coming, fingers clenching around Minato's and in his blazer.

It's an effort to keep his hand moving but he tries anyway, tightening his grip around Minato's and pumping faster, harder. Minato exhales, rough and uneven, his other hand flush digging into Souji's thigh as he comes, hot and sticky over their hands.

After few seconds, Minato fidgets, prodding Souji's calf. "You're heavy," he says, voice thick.

"I ... right. Sorry." With some stiffness, Souji uncurls slightly, straightening his spine and trying to move his leg off Minato's back.  It's fallen asleep, prickling as he rubs it to get the circulation going again. Minato throws Souji's skirt off his head and pulls a chair over, settling down heavily. He's rubbing his jaw, eyes slightly unfocused, face flushed.

Souji watches as he absently licks the corner of his mouth. "You didn't have to," Souji says when he feels up to forming full sentences again. When Minato meets his eyes he leans forward, pulls him closer for a kiss. He runs his tongue over Minato's teeth; vaguely, he tastes himself, but it's mostly Minato. 

"I know," Minato replies, the words slightly indistinct. "But I'm not explaining a ruined skirt to the others."

Then he stares down at his hand and frowns. Souji beckons him closer and takes Minato's hand, and runs his tongue over the palm. Minato watches from beneath lowered lashes as Souji licks between his fingers and laps at his knuckles.

"You came onto me first," Souji says when he leans back, satisfied.  "I just followed your lead. Like I always do."

"As you should." Minato says and stands, making his way back towards the desk where he left his clothes. He shrugs off his blazer and folds it neatly; Souji reaches for his own uniform, then works off his skirt and stockings.

"Ah, yes." Souji shuts his eyes as he tugs on his pants and buckles his belt, trying to remember what Yosuke said to him all those months ago. "I'm fine playing second banana."

Minato seems to smirk as he buttons his shirt. "Maybe I should call you that, instead of vice-leader."

"I'm good." Then, half-jokingly, Souji adds, "or maybe when we're alone." Then he rubs his neck, feeling the marks from Minato's teeth, and attempts to tug his collar higher. "D'you think the others are wondering what happened to us?"

"We could say we had a wardrobe malfunction." Minato folds up his outfit, then studies his reflection in the window and attempts to smooth down his mussed hair. 

"Which we did. With my braids." Souji considers adding, 'and then with each other', then decides against it. 

Minato turns, clothes slung in the crook of his arm, hands in his pockets. He pauses, one hand on the door handle, then turns to look askance at Souji. "Well, then," he says, just like he does in the labyrinths. "Let's go."


End file.
